Page 70 of Lavish

My black stiletto. How the hell did it get on my bed? I saw little teeth marks in it. Damn cat.

You can do this. Do the job. Give Jenese whatever she wants. Get her out of your life.

My dress was still half-zipped, the cool air hitting my exposed back. I yanked at the stubborn zipper, the teeth catching and snagging on the fabric, refusing to cooperate.

“Shit,” I whispered, tugging harder. With a resigned sigh, I cracked the door open just enough to peek through. Miles raised an eyebrow.

“Miles…” I rubbed my temples, feeling a headache come on. “Let’s just end this for tonight, okay? We can argue in the morning.”

I still awkwardly clutched the neckline of my dress to keep it from slipping.

“I can’t get it,” I muttered. “The zipper, I mean.”

“Turn around.”

I hesitated, but the command in his tone left no room for argument. I slowly turned away, gripping my dress as he came closer. His fingers, cool and smooth, grazed my back as hereached for the zipper, a fleeting touch that sparked an electric jolt.

The zipper moved smoothly under his hand, the softzzziploud in the quiet of the room.

“There,” he said, and I suddenly felt coldness on my back.

Miles had stepped back, his hands in his pockets.

“I’ll be back later,” I said.

“You’re mywife,and that means I care to know where you’re running off to at night in a short dress.”

“Miles, don’t make this more than what it is, we’re not that same couple from before.” I gave him a look, and he shrugged.

“Don’t wait up.” I grabbed my jacket and brushed past him, slamming the door behind me before he could say another word.

CHAPTER 16

Serena

My phone buzzedwith another text from Jenese right as I pulled up to the party. Like she knew I was already there.

I just had to get into his office. Plug the USB into the laptop. Hand her the USB back.

Be smarter than her, Serena.

“Victimless crime,” I mumbled, stuffing my purse with the little pouch I got from the back of my closet. I stepped out of my car, and a memory hit me like a brick:

I can do this, I repeated to myself. My first time out on my own. No Mama. No Daddy. Just me. Crystal chandeliers dripped from the ceiling, casting golden light over the sea of socialites in front of me. Voices hummed—the low, pretentious laughter, the clinking of champagne glasses, the undercurrent of whispered deals being made.

And me, standing in the middle of it, utterly out of place. I shifted my weight in my heels, smoothing my dress with sweaty palms.

Mama had chosen it for me—sleek, elegant, and just a touch too tight. A dress meant to be noticed. A dress meant to tell the world I belonged here.

But I didn’t.

Laurene was gone, though, so I had to do it.

Six months, two weeks, and four days—no calls, no postcards. Just Erik’s update that she was in Paris and apparently preferred strangers to us. Fine.

Grandpa Ben was gone. Gigi was a wreck. Erik was stoic. Mama and Daddy were fighting.

The King family was crumbling from the inside.